Home Again
by BootsieLives
Summary: Set after the movie. Horace returns to his junkyard and causes a little mayhem, attracting some unwanted and unexpected attention. Rated M for gore and other fun stuff. Eventual Horace/OC
1. Chapter 1: Home Again

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN. I make no moneys, I'm not brilliant and/or twisted enough to have come up with characters/backgrounds like this anyway...**

**Home Again**

Horace's gait was slow and purposeful, as it always had been. He never wasted the energy to get someplace he didn't want to be, and there was no point in hurrying to get somewhere he wanted to be when he was already dead… He had the rest of eternity to make the trip. As he made his way closer to the junkyard he once called home, Horace began recognizing landmarks and feeling more at ease. It was the only home he'd ever had, and though his life hadn't been the best, familiarity was better than nothing.

The dogs would likely be long gone. After he died he kept up feeding them as best he could, but once Kriticos had gotten hold of him there was no telling what had happened to his junkyard and its furrier inhabitants. Thoughts like those made him sad, as his dogs were sweet and protective as the day was long, ever thankful for the home they had found in his little sanctuary. They had also made for a wonderful sort of garbage disposal for the cruel and awful people Horace had so badly needed to break. However, they were smart and had to have made a living somehow before he'd found them, so he had some hope.

When the yard finally loomed into view Horace felt suddenly… lighter. Better. It was the first real comfort he'd felt in a long, long time. It was familiar, it was home.

It was overrun.

Horace could only stand at the gate and look on, stunned, at the horde of young people that had infested his home. The padlock on the heavy gate had been broken and there were probably a dozen people, from teenagers to those well over the legal age to drink, littered around the front of the yard like sybaritic little cockroaches. They were laughing and carrying on and, in some cases, smoking what smelled like pretty powerful weed with not a care in the world. Apparently after his capture someone had been stupid enough to venture onto his turf and had met no resistance. Since that time the junkyard had become a haven for gutter-children and potheads, forgotten by the law and embraced by the underbelly of the area's youth. He could only imagine what went on here in the dead of night.

Feeling that familiar rage rise in the pit of his stomach and the back of his mind, Horace advanced on his yard, _his home. _They were destroying it!He had nothing against the idea of taking refuge in the junkyard, that was what it had become for him, and the pot certainly wasn't a problem either... But they had no respect for his things. They'd forgotten the ferocity with which he used to protect this place, forgotten the cold fear that once gripped people at the thought of setting foot on this cursed ground. The ground was littered with trash and the yard was littered with miscreants. There was a difference between trying to find a place to be free from judgement and simply trying to duck the law and pretend to be badass. These were the kind of people he used to break.

Horace growled lowly and thought that it was high time to reestablish some long-forgotten fear and alarm in this sleepy little town. His dogs were gone, all the cars he'd salvaged were gone… Everything. All that was left was the crushed garbage he'd left behind and the anger, the territorial rage that caused him to want to tear these people to pieces. And he wanted to make them remember it too.

At first no one noticed the heavy footsteps, the change in the air. He couldn't be seen but Horace's presence was most definitely one that could be felt. He'd been away long enough for people to forget what that heaviness in the atmosphere meant, to forget who really ran this place. No matter, they'd know soon enough.

The first person he could get his hands on didn't know what hit him. Or rather, didn't know what bent him backwards so suddenly his spine snapped and then threw him against a tall tower of crushed cars as if he weighed less than a loaf of bread. The loud crunch-creak of flesh on old, rusting metal drew the attention of the rest of the party, and it was nearly five seconds before anyone started screaming. They scattered like the cockroaches he had earlier likened them to, this sudden act of violence on his part being the figurative light switch that forced them toward the dark. Snagging another one as it ran by in a panic, he turned the shrieking man upside down and, holding him by either ankle, tore him easily in half. This method was much like playing the wish-bone game, as Horace never knew which side more of the pitiable creature's mass would cling to. Sometimes he only managed to rip off a leg, but this time his victim came apart in basically even pieces. A particularly harsh noise of fear from further inside the junkyard distracted the Juggernaut and he let both halves of the man fall to the ground, quickly forgotten.

Oh, how he'd missed this.

Some he tied into knots, some he simply held by the foot and slammed their heads against any and all hard surfaces, like whopping the head of a frog on a tree. He turned one girl into sort of a Rubik's Cube, twisting her at the neck, the spine, the elbows and knees… It was pretty amazing, actually, how easy she was to contort.

Too soon he had run out of bodies to break and he finally came to a complete halt, just in front of his garage. HIS. He had reclaimed it, and it felt incredible to be home again. One extremely fast young man had torn out of the gate as soon as the first unfortunate's body hit the ground, and Horace had let him go. After all, if the news of his return wasn't spread now, more senseless murder would have to be committed until it was. Besides, Horace had what he wanted: peace and quiet and a place that was just for him. In sparing that one skinny little git he'd cemented this, and now everyone would know he'd re-staked his claim…

The Breaker was back.


	2. Chapter 2: Tobi

**OKAY! First off, to my two lovely reviewers, THANK YOU. I actually did not expect to get any attention whatsoever from this story so your positive feedback completely made my year! I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. But I had a baby! Been kinda preoccupied with life haha…. **

**Secondly: Fun fact, this OC is not very Mary Sue-ish. I like Horace, but I honestly don't like sticking caricatures of myself into stories, which people always seem to do. Makes me feel silly. The only thing Tobi Baker and I share is a haircut and a nose ring, because I think more people should have my haircut. And a nose ring. The badassery and fearlessness you'll see in later chapters are all hers. I also screwed with the timeline a bit I believe, as writers are wont to do. Just let it be and everything will be okay. I promise.**

**Thirdly, we all know I don't own it and don't make any money from it****. That said, Here's a chapter that was about a freaking year in the making…**

Chapter II

Tobi Baker couldn't see an arm's length in front of her face the day she almost met Horace Mahoney.

Cursing the densest fog she'd ever seen in her life, Tobi wheeled her bicycle out of the family's ugly, beige, two-car garage that was attached to the ugly, beige, two-story house and began the trip to the town's small library. The journey was one she hadn't made regularly enough for her liking and that day it seemed perilous and impossibly long.

Practically relying on muscle memory she maneuvered out of her neighborhood and toward the edge of town, being that the quickest way to her destination was a semi-circle around the maze of small roads that made up the heart of it. The road she travelled was wider and, in her opinion, safer than most other routes for a bicyclist, particularly in a crippling fog. Well, mostly safer.

Tobi hated the junkyard.

It had given her unpleasant chills ever since she'd moved from Jacksonville, Florida with her mother two years before. There had always been a touch of odd about Tobi that had kept her out of trouble, and her gut told her that the yard was no place for someone like her. She actively avoided it and, on days like this when her route would take her along its perimeter, she would stay as far away as she could without straying too far from the road.

The place just always gave her the willies.

It felt wild and dangerous in all the worst ways, abandoned, left to rot without anyone to run it or even a caretaker. On top of all this it had become sort of a hangout spot for party kids and the area's homeless, and Tobi just wasn't into that scene.

She dreaded riding past it today, inwardly bracing herself for the creepiness of being so close to something that spiritually heavy in such a dense mist. Pedaling evenly around the final curve before the chainlink surrounding the area came into hazy view, she waited for the curl of nausea that always settled in her stomach when she approached the grounds.

When it never came, Tobi pedaled a little slower and squinted through the fog at the fence and the piles of cars beyond it. There had been disappearances here as of late, and she had heard tell of an entire group of local rakehells that had just sort of vanished some months prior. Up until then she'd only known campfire-style stories about an evil presence that had haunted the junkyard years and years before, but no one had seen any actual ghost action since long before she'd moved to town. Well, so they all said.

Tobi was absolutely befuddled by the lack of reaction she suffered there in front of the one place that had ever truly frightened her… That in itself should probably have been a warning, but like most teenagers she suddenly felt the urgent need to tempt fate.

Cautiously her bicycle seemed to move itself closer to the yard, her feet walking the bike along the road as she had nearly stopped moving and her eyes straining to see anything different in amongst the usual debris that littered the junkyard's grounds, only to find… nothing. Absolutely nothing. The yard was pristine (as junkyards go), without a single trace of garbage on the strangely clean-looking dirt. Even the stacks of vehicles that had been left for time and rust to claim seemed tidier than usual.

"What…" Tobi's mind couldn't allow for more than one word to escape. What had happened to the hideous blight her town had come to forget? It suddenly seemed… well, very much like a business.

It was only when a monstrous dog leaped at the chain link that Tobi realized how close she had come to the barrier between herself and the yard. The beast bounced off the fence and the shock caused Tobi to shriek and fall off her bike backwards. She landed heavily and felt her hip hit the rough ground hard, the bicycle on top of her legs.

Between trying to catch her breath and waiting for the initial burn from trauma to her person to disappear, she noticed that the dog wasn't continuing its assault on the fence. It stood there panting, watching Tobi as she watched it.

"You were just saying hello, huh?" she ventured, and the dog cocked its head, its amber eyes bright. The fog made most things blurry and difficult to make out more than a few yards away but Tobi was close enough to absorb the general look of the dog. Some kind of bully mix with a rough aura about it; more than likely a stray that had been a few places it shouldn't have. It—she, Tobi corrected herself—had white fur with big brindle patches and small but soulful eyes that made her admittedly lovely. Well, barring the facial scars and the hunk of ear that was missing. Tobi also noticed that the dog was most probably a recent mother, if the long teats were anything to go by.

"S'okay, girl," she continued, lifting her bike off of her leg and wincing as she tried to stand. "Where'd you come from?" Finally mostly upright, Tobi experimentally put weight on her leg and, satisfied that nothing was hurt too badly, bent to pick up her bicycle. "Who cleaned up the place, huh? Must be someone around if you've got enough food to be that plump."

The dog wasn't amused, but Tobi suspected it was more out of general boredom than actual understanding of the playful jab.

A sudden shriek of metal on metal caused the dog to start and bolt, and almost knocked Tobi over again with surprise and fear. She couldn't see through the fog far enough to discern what made the noise, but her old instinctual fear of the area had her on the bike and powering away from the grounds before she could fully process any thoughts about what might have caused it. The rest of the ride to the library was a blur of fog and a smeared backdrop of old buildings and tall trees. By the time she had arrived and dismounted, Tobi's lungs and legs burned with exertion and her hands shook as she locked up her bike.

_**Break(er)Break(er)Break(er)Break(er)Break(er)**_

Horace was bored.

After the party fiasco people had pretty much started keeping their distance again and he turned his attention to fixing what they had fucked up. Firstly, he cleaned up the yard. The place was never glistening, but at least it didn't look like a damn landfill when he was running it. He had figured out that it was the feeling behind the motion that caused him to be able to move inanimate objects and have contact with living people. Rage caused him to be able to break them, to be able to lift crushed vehicles and flatten them like so many poisonous insects, and he had practiced applying purpose to his actions to be able to pick up after himself. Long ago, when the anger subsided, there was always a mess he couldn't do anything with. Now at least he could maintain his safe place as well as he could protect it.

Horace wasn't stupid, he was just patient.

After a while there was even a stray bitch sniffing around the yard, heavy with pups and looking as if she was going to drop them any day. Horace welcomed her and simply called her Mama. He had missed the presence of his dogs and had looked forward to the prospect of having a whole litter to look after.

When Mama finally did pop she wound up with eight pups, a larger litter but not unmanageable, and they grew quickly. Bullies of any category are sturdy dogs and they took to life with relish, play-fighting and exercising their voices from the early weeks. Horace figured they were mostly American bulldog with some pit mixed in, or maybe some American Staffordshire. Dogs like that were often kept for breeding or fighting around these parts, or, as was probably Mama's case, breeding _for_ fighting, and that broke what was left of Horace's mealy, dusty heart.

There weren't any bits or pieces of cars or trucks left worth working on since his incarceration, so mostly Horace wandered the grounds aimlessly, sometimes with the dogs running about his legs. Now that they were weaned Mama enjoyed time to herself and would wander off for a bit before returning and playing or hunting with them.

On a particularly foggy day, Horace was unbelievably, _desperately_ bored. The yard was clean, the dogs were fed (small mammals enjoyed the multitude of hiding places that abandoned old cars could provide, and the hunting was good), and he had walked the perimeter probably three dozen times in the long hours of the early morning.

Being doomed to walk the earth for all eternity was awfully repetitive.

Horace was debating re-organizing his car towers when he heard Mama bark excitedly and charge the fence.

Figuring on a fat squirrel or a particularly brave rabbit, imagine the giant's surprise when he witnessed a scrawny dark figure scream and topple over in the fog several yards before him. He could see through the mist alright, it was just a matter of looking past the air and the water at what he wanted to see, and there it was. Well, there she was.

A little bitty thing, a good foot and a half shorter than Horace, he was sure. In boot-cut jeans and a grey hoodie it was only her voice that gave her away as female, particularly because the only hair that wasn't shaved from her head was pulled back into a messy black ponytail. It looked like a sloppy attempt at a Mohawk, but maybe she wanted it to look that way.

"You were just saying hello, huh?" her voice was kind of low for a girl, but it was somehow undeniably feminine. She struggled to stand from under her bicycle and managed after only a few seconds, readjusting her general person and collecting herself. She fiddled with a stud in her nose for something to do, probably not even realizing she did it.

"S'okay, girl," she continued. "Where'd you come from?"

It had been a long time since Horace could look upon one of the living and not feel anger. If anything, this was… amusement. She meant no harm. Even liked Mama, by the look of it.

"Who cleaned up the place, huh?" he let a little ripple of pride run through his chest and leaned against a tower of cars to observe the exchange. People were noticing. "Must be someone around if you've got enough food to be that plump," the girl yammered on, and Horace actually found it quite funny. Funny enough, even, to give a bit of weight to his form and cause a shift in the tower he was leaning against just a bit too suddenly. The metal of two different vehicles barked and screeched before he could jump away.

All in the same moment both Mama and the girl had spooked. Mama ran for the heart of the yard while the girl took off on that bike so fast you'd think she was being chased by the devil himself.

So much for entertainment.

_Damn._


End file.
